A Ring-bearer's Confessional
by Boriscat42
Summary: After sailing to Valinor, Frodo reflects on his experiences with the Ring and analyzes its effects on him. First person, Frodo's POV. This will be a couple chapters long.


I am constantly asked by scholars and lords to describe the effects of the One Ring upon myself. For those who wish to understand the temptations of power and the motivations of Sauron, I suppose that I am the most accessible source of firsthand information on that accursed weapon. Therefore, I shall now set to paper my account of bearing the Ring, in hopes that it shall supplement the numerous histories of our Quest and advance the studies of the roots of corruption while allowing myself some rest from constant recollection.

To those who never wore the Ring, it will seem odd to hear me describe it as if it were a living creature, but so it seemed. It comprehended my emotions, and manipulated them expertly. Images were planted in my mind, blending with my own thoughts but turning them in darker directions and leading me toward the Ring's own ends. The manipulations were subtle, of course. Had I not seen the Ring's effects on my poor Uncle Bilbo, I might never have recognized its influence.

I was drawn to the ring almost immediately upon inheriting it. Gandalf will remember that he had a rather difficult time explaining to me why I should keep it hidden. The attraction was weak; at the beginning, it took the form of simple curiosity. The Ring seemed to be begging for me to put it on and discover its secrets. It insulted Bilbo and Gandalf as ignorant and promised me that if I were to wear it, I could understand it far better than they and instruct them in its intricacies. Still, I could rein in my curiosity, especially since Gandalf seemed so adamant that I should leave it off. I took it from its hiding place occasionally and studied it, but I never wore it. So the Ring changed its strategies.

About five years before Gandalf reappeared and asked me to leave my home, I began to have premonitions of great harm coming to the Shire. Nightmares of burning trees and salted farm fields haunted me, and in the daytime, I would often look across a meadow and see it black and charred before I blinked and returned it to its proper color. Coupled with the uneasiness was a vague conception that with the Ring, I could protect the Shire from whatever hunted it. The Ring seemed to sense my Hobbit nature and never suggested monarchy and glory to me as it must have to others. Instead, it appealed to my desire for security and stability, for a lack of change. Those forebodings of destruction were the Ring's first successful assault upon my willpower. Though I still left the Ring where it lay aside from gazing at it occasionally, I began to revere it rather than fear it.

In the days following Gandalf's reappearance, the Ring seemed rather excited. The nightmares became more frequent and more vivid. I also became restless. The Ring suggested to me that the outside world was far more important than my beloved Shire, that I was meant for greater things than simply holding Bilbo's station in his stead, and that it was naïve for me to content myself with my little daily life. That made me more amenable to undertaking the Quest, though I fooled myself and possibly even Gandalf into believing that I was acting out of wisdom and prudence. After all, it did not seem so unusual that Bilbo's heir would be an adventurer, since he himself was. My family and acquaintances simply said that Bilbo's household was finally falling into ruin, and that I had spent away his dwarf-fortune.

Here I should note that around this time, I began to develop a protective instinct toward the Ring. It first manifested itself when Gandalf asked to hold it and heated it in my hearth-fire. I was terrified that it would be melted. Then, I became quite agitated at the idea of three other Hobbits accompanying me, thought that impulse was written off as concern for my young friends' safety. In retrospect, I believe that the Ring wished to remain with me, continuing the work of corruption that it had already begun instead of starting anew with someone not emotionally attached to it. Thus it began its journey East, in my jealous hands.


End file.
